God Rest Bon Scott
by MoonGoddessShadow
Summary: Or Thank You, Australian Vacuum Cleaners. A series of ten short, Dean-centric stories, each loosely based on a song off Back In Black. Not a songfic. Chapter Ten: For the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester was content.
1. Hell's Bells

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Kripke and company do. The opinions expressed in this particular fic also do not represent the opinions of the author.

A/N: Hello there! This is totally not a small diversion from my other, bigger fics, which I swear I will finish. Really, I will. Each of these shorts is based loosely on the lyrics of the AC/DC song it is named after. They all take place in season four or, in the case of this one, shortly before it. There are two incredibly vague references to my other SPN fic, but they won't smack you over the head. In fact, you might get them without reading my other fic. Updates should be vaguely frequent, since I'm a few chapters ahead. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

"No, no, no..." the young blonde sobbed, head hanging low against her chest. Tears rolled hot down her cheeks, in no way a relief from the scorching heat. He watched her momentarily, a smirk breaking his otherwise daunting features. She was pathetic–they hadn't even started, and already she was crying. Pushing the flat of his blade under her chin, he forcefully pushed her head up, the evident pain on her face pulling the corners of his lips up further.

"Why the tears, Jenny? Aren't you glad to see me?" he asked, feigning concern. When his question was met with only deeper sobs, his smile dissolved, replaced by an intense frown. "Look at me." He withdrew the blade from under her chin, and while her head didn't fall back, neither did her eyes meet his.

Growing quickly frustrated, he took hold of a portion of her flaxen hair and yanked her head up. "Jenny, look at me," he said, sounding almost reasonable but with frustration tinging his voice. To the other souls on the rack, he was almost being merciful compared to their own torturers. They, though, had never personally experienced the torture inflicted by Alistair, or the select few he had trained over the centuries, and therefore had no idea what the young girl was truly in for.

He gritted his teeth together, hand wrapping tighter around his glimmering blade, and let her hair go, face almost expressionless. Her head fell wearily back to her chest, and he stalked away momentarily, apparently showing mercy. Then, on the heel of his boot, he spun around, arm swinging in a low, precise arc to bury the blade in the meat of her gut.

"Look at me!" he growled, voice rumbling through the cavernous Pit. Even the other demons looked up, close to startled by the fury in the resounding words. Her eyes darted up, breath becoming ragged as shock was overlapped by pain; her brown eyes finally met his dark pair. A satisfied smile crossed his face. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" He twisted the knife to punctuate his words, drawing a sharp gasp from her. "Now say my name."

"D-Dean," she managed, voice barely more than a rough whisper. He pulled the knife out, shaking her blood off onto her own face, and smiled wider. Walking back, he wiped the rest of it clean as he let the heat sear her now exposed innards and plotted his next move. He placed the weapon back with the vast array of others, sizing up the multitudes of options before him.

It was almost a shame, doing this to her day in and day out. Jenny was his type of girl, he could tell: pretty, not a genius, but not stupid, and with just enough spirit in her to make her interesting. While most of his human life was fading away, he could remember a few more important things–things like his family, his friends (few as they were), his favorite beer, the taste of pie and, in this case, his type of woman. If they'd both been up top, hanging around some skeevy dive bar, he would have hit on her shamelessly, and probably bedded her by the end of the night.

But down here, things were completely different. He felt no remorse as he chose a weapon, a shiny silver corkscrew that was calling out to him, and turned to face her again. No, down here, he was in charge, second-in-command among legions of demons older than he, and he reveled in drawing out her anguish. It was the only thing that made him feel better now, made him forget all the pain inflicted upon him.

A voice in the back of his mind, faint and golden, rustled softly, telling him that he should not be enjoying this, but he forced it down, like biting back bile. Sometimes, his conscience nagged at him like that, a lingering dreg of the humanity he still couldn't quite shake. Part of him knew that was a good thing, but as he felt the terror surging through the girl strung up behind him, all that disappeared with the resurgence of joy that came with each scream he envisioned.

"Jenny, Jenny, Jenny," he murmured, turning slowly to look at her once more. "We've been at this for weeks now. Don't you think it's time you learned some obedience? It would make this so much easier for both of us, you know." Through her sweat-matted bangs, she watched him, not so much as a hint of insurrection in her eyes. He was close to breaking her, he knew it.

"Go t-to--" She struggled with the words as sulfur swirled around her, and through her oozing wound. "Go to He..." The words died on her lips as the agony overtook her. Dean smiled, moving closer to her.

"What was that? 'Go to Hell,' is that what you were going to say?" A sharp smile crossed his face, contorting his once handsome features into a terrifying, almost diabolic, visage. He ran the shining corkscrew from one shoulder to the other, drawing an unbidden shudder from her as it crossed her collarbone. "Honey, you're already there. But me? I'm in Heaven." He drew the metal back to her collarbone, just to the left of her neck and right above her beating heart and, with a vicious smile, twisted the tip into her soft flesh.

A gratifying scream pierced the air; he lingered, not driving the weapon in any further than the few centimeters it already punctured. Savoring her desperate pleas, intermingled with hopeless weeping, he drove it in another few centimeters, loving the resistance her muscles put up as they tensed and eventually gave way. He leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear in a way that would have been seductive if he hadn't been holding the corkscrew immersed in her skin, and if they hadn't been in Hell.

"Tell me, why are you here?" He already knew the answer, of course, but every day she was made to repeat it, to drive home exactly why she deserved this for eternity. Enjoying her struggle to speak wasn't beyond him, either. It was a sick pleasure, one that he reveled in, just as Alistair had with him.

Sometimes, he was ashamed of the decision he made, his conscience very clearly telling him that this was wrong, so wrong, that he was on his was to becoming one of the very monsters he and Sammy spent their entire lives putting down. But as soon as any feelings relating to his faltering humanity arose, another soul appeared before him, ripe for torture, and all humanity vanished in lieu of duty. He was a soldier up top, and that didn't change down here.

"For, for committing suicide," the young girl stuttered, words quiet but full of despair. Dean nodded, as if helping a particularly dim child along, and twisted the corkscrew in a fraction of a centimeter, just enough to unleash another wave of agony.

"That's right. And do you know what happens to people who commit suicide?" Rasping breaths were his only answer for a moment, and her lack of immediacy drove the silver in a little further. "What happens?" Dean pushed, less and less congenial with every moment she wasted.

"They," she began, drawing in a long breath, "they go to Hell." He grinned, an expression that would have been considered playful if it hadn't been accompanied by his dark eyes, only a few shades away from no longer being hazel.

"That's right." The weapon twisted in a little further, hooking underneath her collarbone. "And why do people who commit suicide go to Hell?"

Her breathing erratic now, but death no closer than it would ever be, she answered, "Because God thinks p-people who commit suicide are rejecting the gift of, of-" She drew in a rattling breath and continued. "-of life that God gave them, and won't let them into Heaven."

"It's about damn time you learned," he sneered. "And now you can see why scum like you ended up here, right?" He watched her break a little bit as that thought sunk in, and twisted the corkscrew in further; now, her screams were punctuated with intermittent sobbing. "You're here because you're weak, because you chose the easy way out. Aren't you glad you did? Isn't this so much easier than living up top?" When she didn't reply, he drove the weapon up to the end of the screw and left it there, stepping back from her.

"Well, I know I'm enjoying myself," he chuckled darkly, corners of his mouth quirking up in maniacal delight. Then, expression turning hard on a dime, he told hold of the corkscrew handle and pulled mightily. A sickening crunching noise filled the air as her collarbone snapped; this time, no sobs pierced her drawn-out screams. The rest of the corkscrew pulled out with a wet slurp, and Dean stood stoic for a moment to take in her suffering, holding the uncommon weapon as it dripped with her blood. It assuaged his own distant memories of the rack like nothing else could–well, not everything, but he had long abandoned those already distant hopes when he picked up the knife.

Now, he was a creature of Hell's own creation, slowly being carved from the man he once was into a beast he could scarcely recognize. And, as he picked the bloody meat from his weapon, he knew that he relished it too much to ever be the man he had once been. Dean Winchester, a name he clung to as one of his last dregs of humanity, was dying, and he didn't seem to mind.

Instead, he licked the blood from his fingers, turned away from his current victim, and began sizing up the weapons in his vast array.

"Now, Jenny, where do we go from here?" he grinned, hands drifting over the weapons until a small hammer drew his attention. He picked it up, weighed it in his hands experimentally, and grinned. Turning back to her with a deliberate slowness, he said, "Because I know I'm just having too much fun to stop now."


	2. Shoot to Thrill

A/N: This one's set at some indeterminate point after 'Lazarus Rising,' but before Uriel enters the picture. It's also a bit more from Sammy's point of view than I'd originally imagined, but it doesn't quite work any other way. It turned out a bit on the dialogue-y side, too, mostly because the characters are being fairly vocal with what's going on. Hopefully it works. Let me know if it doesn't, and I'll try to remedy it. And sorry if the end sucks. I'm bad at those.

* * *

Dean Winchester was content–classic rock thrummed around him, a cold beer rested in his hand, beautiful girls with step-daddy issues littered the bar, and Sammy sat next to him, scowling the whole time. Yup, nothing could have made this better, except for maybe a slice of cherry pie, but he was peachy keen with what he had. No complaints here, not when the alternative was the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh, and the constant echo of screams. No, he was just fine with the small graces of living these days.

"Dean, what are we doing here? Shouldn't we be working a case?" Sam glowered, disregarding the radiant grin on his older brother's face. Dean, though, just waved him off.

"Yeah, give it time, Sammy," he said flippantly, eyes following a girl in a miniskirt as she walked past their table to the bar. Damn, did she have legs. "Enjoy life a little, how about that?" Sam leaned back in his seat, arms folded across his broad chest.

"I'd enjoy it more if I knew we'd found the demons here," he huffed, but didn't pursue the issue any further. Dean ignored his comments, anyway, and took another swig of his beer. Seriously, Ruby must have put some stick up his ass over the summer, because the kid had never been so uptight. Or maybe that was the whole Apocalypse thing. Whatever.

"Man, the tail is hot around here," he grinned, tapping his toe to an old favorite. "And whoever's putting quarters in the juke, my compliments. Damn, we could not have gotten luckier."

"There's a job here, man. We're not just here for the ass and booze." Sam didn't look at Dean as he spoke, instead keeping a trained eye on the crowd. Sam's remarks finally seemed to get to the elder Winchester, who turned to look at his younger brother.

"Liven up, dude. Seriously, you're such a stick in the mud. Chicks don't dig that." He took another gulp of his beer. "Just relax and quit being a little bitch, okay? We can handle this job." With that, he stood up and crossed the room to the bar itself, where he instantly started chatting up a group of girls, barely over twenty-one. Sam just sat at their table, occasionally drinking his beer and keeping a close eye on everyone around him. Demons blended in too easily to relax, in his opinion.

A few minutes later, Dean returned, a big grin adorning his features as he plopped back into his chair.

"Hey there, Grumpy Gus. Guess what? They're all single," he said with more glee than any one man should have over such a prospect. "Man, you should have seen the knockers on the brunette one. I mean... wow." He curved his hands in front of his chest, miming what could have been mistaken for carrying cantaloupes if Sam hadn't known his brother so well. The younger brother just shook his head.

"You're really not worried about this demon thing?" he asked incredulously, sticking to his point. Dean just pursed his lips, appearing to think about it, then shook his head in the negative.

"Nope, not really." He leaned toward Sam across the table, hand still wrapped around his beer bottle; Sam leaned a little closer, hoping Dean was about to divulge some big secret. "Can you just believe me when I say we've got it covered? Chill and have another beer. It'll be good for you. Help you relax. God knows you need it." Sam just raised an eyebrow and leaned back.

"I don't believe you, man. There's a slew of demonic omens, fifteen missing people in the past two weeks, six of which have turned up ritually carved and drained of their blood, and a good chance that this is a Seal, and you're telling me to relax, you have it covered?"

"Yup."

"You're freaking insane."

"So I hear." Nonplussed, Dean got up to get another beer, taking his and Sam's empties. While he was up there, he talked to another group of girls for a moment before the bartender gave him two new bottles and he returned.

Sam and Dean drank in silence for a while, idly watching the patrons pass by. Once or twice, Sam caught Dean winking at the girls at the bar, each of which would grin and glance away when he did so. After a few minutes, Dean got up to get them two more drinks; this time, he chatted not with the young girls, but with the bartender himself. When he returned once again, Sam gave him an odd look.

"No girls you wanted to hit on this time?" he asked, drawing a shrug from Dean.

"Sort of. Just keep an eye on that group, okay?" He pointed to the second bunch of girls he'd spoken to, just as the barkeep pushed a small bunch of bright red drinks down to the girls. He pointed to Dean, and when they looked, he gave them a winning smile. They grinned back, eyes telling of what they thought, and turned to drink their free margaritas. Sam watched this ploy with detached interest, having seen his older brother do it a million times. Then drank happily, probably thinking about how well they would fare with him. A million times at a million bars with a million girls, and nothing ever changed.

Except this time. First, the platinum blonde one started coughing, then the brunette, and then the others in quick succession, and, if Sam was seeing things right, there were faint traces of smoke coming from the corners of their mouths. Shit. They were demons.

Dean jumped up, Sam quick on his tail, to get to the girls. The bartender seemed to already be helping them, explaining to other confused patrons that he must have put too much tequila in their drinks. When Dean approached, the taller man gave him a quick glance.

"Help your gal pals here, buddy. They're choking on your drinks." Taking one by the arm, he led them to the bathroom, with Dean following and Sam not far behind, two girls apiece with them.

The girls halted suddenly just inside the doorway, unable to move any further. When Sam glanced up, he saw a Devil's Trap painted on the tile ceiling, and all doubt in Dean instantly vanished, replaced by wonder that his brother had accomplished all this. When he looked to his older brother, he was staring back at him, along with the bartender.

"Well, are you just gonna stand there gawking or are you gonna help us?" the barkeep asked, looking impatient. "I've got better things to do than stand around in the bathroom with you two all night. I've got a bar to run."

Dean held out a placating hand, glancing to the taller man, who was probably a few years older than Dean himself. "Relax, Joey. This is a quick thing, and then you just gotta help us get them out of here. Somewhere to recover," the elder Winchester replied, looking back to Sam. "Wanna read us an exorcism, Sammy?" Still slightly in shock, Sam didn't do as told immediately.

"How'd you know it was them?" he asked, glancing back to the now struggling quintet of demon-girls. Dean just shook his head.

"C'mon man, later. You were the one who was all proactive about this. Let's get it over with so I can go back to drinking, maybe hustle some pool." Joey seemed to frown at this, but Dean paid him no mind. Nodding agreeably, Sam turned to the captured girls and began reciting the exorcism from memory.

They fought, yelled and cursed the entire time, but, in the end, the black smoke burst out of their mouths, and they all collapsed to the floor. The guys hoisted them up, taking them back out to the bar and depositing their vaguely conscious forms into chairs where they could be watched still, just in case. When that was done, and Joey had sufficiently explained to the rest of the patrons that the girls had too much, and the tequila was the proverbial straw, Dean shook hands with the tall man and went back to the table he and Sam had previously occupied.

"How the hell did you manage that?" the taller Winchester finally asked, jaw all but hanging open. Dean grinned.

"I'm awesome." When Sam gave him a no-nonsense look, he acquiesced. "Called in a few favors, did some digging around town, the usual stuff. All the missing people had been here in the past few weeks, according to the friends and family, so I checked around the bar. Traces of sulfur everywhere, and the people always said there was a group of girls hanging around on the nights people went missing."

"You did research?" Sam asked, jaw nearly dropping. His older brother had never shown any inclination in doing the research when Sam had been more capable and more willing to do so.

Dean gave his brother an offended look.

"What, a guy can't follow some leads on his own?"

Sam shook his head, hardly able to wrap his mind around all this. "Whatever. And Joey...?" he trailed off, looking for his role in all this.

"Is an old acquaintance of Bobby's, who owed Dad a favor. I got him to put a Trap in the bathroom and spike their drinks with holy water, once I was sure it was them. After that, it was all the stuff you saw." Sam relaxed into his chair, a disbelieving smile covering his face.

"I can't believe the shit you pull sometimes. What if that didn't work?"

"A hope and a prayer, Sammy, not to mention some good, old-fashioned Winchester making it up as you go. And Ruby's knife, if it came down to that." He grinned and swigged down his beer. "Like I said, just relax. I've got this covered." He looked to Sam's empty, then to his own. "Want another? They're on the house tonight."

Sam just laughed.


	3. What Do You Do For Money Honey

A/N: This one was difficult. I wasn't sure where to go with this idea exactly, but here's the final result. I'm sorry if this one sucks; it was a vague idea to begin with. It's also looking to be quite short compared to the first two, but it wouldn't work much longer without being boring. This is set sometime after 'Heaven and Hell.'

* * *

Dean kept his gun trained squarely in front of him as he stalked down the hallway, eyes scanning the small corridor with trained vigilance. Sam came up behind him, having swept one of the bedrooms for their target. He heard Ruby's heavy footsteps upstairs, and frowned; he appreciated what she'd done for Sammy–Hell, he appreciated the tipoff she'd given them about a possible Seal being broken here--but she really needed some lessons on stealth, or at least not walking like a three hundred pound drunk.

The elder Winchester paused next to a doorway, drawing his gun in toward his chest, yet ready to shoot at a moment's notice. With Sam at the ready, he swung around the frame, gun snapping out in front of him. When nothing immediately jumped out at them, he moved further into the room, a lifetime of training ensuring that no corner of the simple bedroom was left unseen. Sam, assured that there was no immediate threat, moved to the next room with his own learned silence and precision.

Dean cautiously moved toward the closet, opening it with sudden force; three shots sounded through the house. In a flash, he was in the room Sam had moved onto, gun stalwartly focused in front of him in case anyone besides the Sasquatch jumped out. Twenty-six years, and he can instantly distinguish his brother's form from any other threat.

His gun fell on the only other person in the room, a tall blonde, slim and smirking. Sam stood just inside the doorway, pistol similarly aimed at the young woman, and barely gave his older brother a glance.

"The brothers Winchester, goody," the blonde said, eyes darting from one to the other. "Too bad you already missed all the fun."

"What'd you do, Lilith?" Sam demanded, gun steadily targeted between her eyes. Not that shooting her would do much more than make him feel better and kill the vessel, but Dean knew he'd get some vindication out of it.

"What do you think I did, silly?" she replied, the girlish innocence creating a frightening dissonance with the aura of wretchedness she invariably gave off. She flashed a smile that, had the meatsuit not been possessed by a psychotic demon, would have been dazzling; a shiver ran down Dean's spine, despite leading a life chock full of horrors way worse than a smiling girl. "I broke the Seal."

She stepped aside, revealing less carnage than Dean had imagined, although that was more attributed to Ruby's overselling the nature of the Seal than his own twisted imagination. Three children lay crumpled on the floor, carpet stained with still fresh blood that glistened in the moonlight. Each child stared glassily into the ether, life gone from their pale bodies.

"You sonuva-" Dean began, cut short by the demon girl telekinetically tossing him into a wall.

"Now, now, Dean, watch that language," she tutted with a simpering smile.

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted, inching closer to his demonic nemesis. She just tilted her head toward him, as if she was a curious puppy.

"You know that won't do anything to me," she said simply, "and that I can't do anything to you. Besides, the Seal is already broken. You lost again, big boy." Flashing her brilliant, creepy smile once more, she disappeared from the room. Sam stayed tense for a moment, in case she reappeared, while Dean groaned and got to his feet.

"The bitch got away again, didn't she?" the shorter brother grumbled, rubbing his head. Sam nodded, poking his head in the hallway.

"Yeah, she's gone." Dean knelt down next to the children, wishing he didn't have to look, but knowing he had to in case she left behind anything they could use. They hadn't been so lucky yet, and today didn't look like their day either.

"Goddammit," he muttered. "The skank got one past us. Again." He heard Sam curse under his breath, and looked up in time to see the kid flipping an athame over with the butt of his shotgun. "What?" Sam looked down to his kneeling brother and shook his head.

"It's just... We need to get her. Now, before this goes any further." Dean pushed himself to his feet, nodding vaguely. Implications toward Sam's demonic ability to get rid of her aside, the kid had a completely valid point.

"Yeah, the bitch needs ganked. Believe me, I know." The taller Winchester didn't seem to accept this answer though, and continued, rage visibly building.

"I mean, how does she do it? How does she pull the wool over us every time? Are we really that shitty of hunters that we can't prevent one demon from breaking one Seal?" Before he could go further, Dean held up a placating hand, giving his brother a level stare.

"She isn't just any demon, Sammy. It's frickin' Lilith we're talking about. And I agree with you anyway. We're sucking and dying here, man. I just don't know what we can change. It's not like Heaven's any help, and Ruby isn't bringing us much closer." Dean shrugged, almost defeatedly if not for the edge of anger Sam knew the older man carried. "You have any new ideas?"

"Well..." He thought for a minute, obviously resisting the urge to bring up his powers and whatever capabilities he had in that area. "No, not really." Dean nodded.

"Though so." He glanced around the room. "You see anything useful?"

"I'm gonna take the athame, and see if any of the symbols are relevent," Sam replied, already pocketing the silver tool. Dean nodded.

"Then let's get the hell out of here."


	4. Givin the Dog a Bone

A/N: This song was weird trying to find an idea for, at least one without explicit sexual content. Seriously, this one is a bit of a stretch, but I promise there's no smut. This one is set pretty much anytime after Heaven and Hell, but I consider it to be happening sometime soon after the last chapter. That said, hope you enjoy this one.

* * *

"Could you at least look at me?"

Dean Winchester just took another swig of his beer and flipped the channel. Goddamn cheap motels, with their complete lack of decent programming. Not so much as one even interesting skin flick, even on the pay-per-view channels. Bunch of shit.

"Well, so much for maturity. Not that you ever had much of a penchant for it."

Ooh, scratch that. One channel was playing Back to the Future, the good one. With a little time travel experience under his belt, he felt he could better appreciate it, which was saying a lot–he'd appreciated the hell out of it since he was a kid. He'd seen it for the first time in a cheap motel, actually, waiting for Dad to come back from a hunt. He sat the remote on the arm of the chair next to him, relaxing into its overly cushy depths as Marty wondered if those bastards could do ninety.

"Seriously, if we have to be alone together, you could acknowledge I'm here."

Dean loudly gulped down his beer, a passive-aggressive way to let Ruby know that he was tuning her out. Freaking demon, interrupting his quiet time. Just because they had to share the same space while Sam was out getting dinner, didn't mean they had to interact. Hell, he barely liked her, and that was only because she'd saved Sam's life. Non-hatred wasn't an invitation to having sharing and caring time together, like he supposed Sam wanted.

"Can I have a beer?"

Alright, that was too far.

"No," was his entire response, punctuated by a swallow of his own drink.

"Why?" she asked, with such false innocence and confusion that he almost slapped her dirty mouth. "They're here for drinking, right?"

He slammed his bottle down and turned to look at her, pulling the best glare he could muster.

"Yes, Ruby, they are, but not for you to drink. You don't even need to drink. It's just a waste of beer, and we're already wasting our money to buy you some goddamn fries, so you can shut your freaking piehole and let me watch the damn movie." He turned back to the television and took an angry drink of his beer. Ruby stared at him for a second, and he had the fleeting feeling that he'd finally shut her up; she quickly squashed that.

"You mean the money you got hustling pool? Or the money Sam won in that poker match?"

He was going to have a word with Sam when the kid got back with dinner; Ruby was, from time to time, helpful, but she needed to learn her frickin' place and know when to shut the hell up.

"Yeah, that money. I don't exactly see you bringing in any sort of payroll on your own, and there's only so much we earn that I'm willing to let you suck away," he snapped, not looking away from the movie this time. "So you can be happy with your fries, or you can get the fuck outta here."

He couldn't see it, but her eyes narrowed, playfulness suddenly vanished from her features.

"I could kill you right here, you know."

Was she really that stupid? A chuckle escaped his lips before he responded, "Yeah, but then Sammy would hunt you down and kill you with your own damn knife, and I don't think you hate me enough to get yourself killed, especially over a beer."

"I could send you back to Hell, could turn you into a bed-wetting vegetable, cut out your tongue and never hear your annoying voice again."

Oh, now he was just grinning. "You keep telling yourself that, honey, but you know none of it will do you a lick of good. Sammy likes me a heck of a lot more than he likes you."

"But you can't give him what I give him," she snarled, as if that was the winning factor. He just wrinkled his nose.

"And you can keep on keeping on in that department, because that's just freaking creepy otherwise." He took another drink of his beer and glanced over his shoulder at her. "You done now?"

She opened her mouth, a retort fully formed on her lips, when the behemoth Winchester himself opened the door, two bags of carry-out in hand. When the room's two occupants looked surprisedly to the newcomer, he raised an eyebrow and stuffed a key in his pocket.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"Nope," was the instant response from Ruby, who leapt off the bed she'd been positioned on and took a bag from Sam. "Did you get my fries?"

"Uh, yeah," the kid replied. Already, Dean had returned to his movie. Huh, the whole 'Hey, McFly!' bit seemed familiar... Weird. "Are you sure everything's fine?" Seriously, could he not just watch the movie for five uninterrupted minutes?

"Yup," Dean replied, cracking open a new beer. "You get my burger?"

"Yeah." Sam still sounded wary, but pulled a wrapped object from a bag and handed it to his older brother. "What were you guys talking about?"

"Unicorns."

"Dean letting me have a beer."

Damn, that bitch was relentless.


	5. Let Me Put My Love Into You

A/N: This should be interesting... This one is fairly short. Not much lore to be found on the Spearfinger so far. I've tried to be vaguely accurate from the spattering of legend retellings I've found, but I've molded the idea a little bit. And Kripke & Co have done pretty well with twisting real lore ever-so-slightly, so why can't I do the same? Anyway, this is sometime after 'Family Remains,' not that it really matters.

* * *

The spearfinger ducked between the trees, narrowly avoiding the bulk of the buckshot Dean had aimed its way. Goddamn, she was fast for an old lady. He upped his speed to try to catch up, readying his gun for when he got another good shot.

Sam's footfalls crunched in the light snow not twenty feet to his right; a resounding crack echoed through the woods as his little brother fired a shot of his own. Part of the spray caught her, but she barely reacted.

"Dean, this isn't working," Sam shouted through the trees, ducking a low branch. "We've got to get her heart away from her and burn it."

"Awesome," Dean muttered. The old witch took a sudden left; the boys followed without so much as tripping. Her footfalls barely echoed in the woods; it was almost like she was gliding over the snow. Damn witches, and their weird-ass abilities. She wound almost soundlessly through the woods, interweaving her path through the trees, as if trying the throw the men pursuing her.

"So how do we catch her?" Dean hollered, keeping his focus entirely on the witch, but addressing his brother. "If you haven't noticed, she's outrunning the both of us."

"You haven't realized where she's heading?" Sam yelled back, voice almost revealing the abject surprise in his words. For a second, Dean was thrust into furious thought, trying to figure out what his little brother had apparently already discovered. Then, with startling clarity, it hit him.

"I'm gonna kill that goddamned son of a bitch!" the older Winchester practically roared, doubling his already impressive speed. The Spearfinger seemed to realize his rising ardor, and glided all the faster over the midwinter snow. Her fear, though, was not enough to shake the enraged hunter, who matched her with almost inhuman speed.

Thirty feet or so behind him, Dean could hear Sam yelling his name, telling him to be careful, but the words were lost on him as the distance between the brothers increased. All Dean knew now was the mounting fury, the thrumming of his pulse as it rang through his ears.

The witch made it to her destination just moments before Dean did, perching next to the one thing in the whole clearing besides trees, and one of the few things in existence that Dean cared for with his whole being: a cherry 1967 Chevy Impala, almost shimmering in the waxing moonlight. The hunter levied his shotgun at her, but not before she could kneel next to the vehicle, her pointed namesake finger outstretched and hovering just over the unmarred body.

"Do it and I swear to God, even Hell will be the easy option," Dean hollered, holding his gun steady between her eyes. She just smiled madly at him and eased her finger ever-so-slightly forward, making the hunter tense up, almost lunging at her.

"Make no sudden movements, hunter," the witch cawed, seemingly enjoying the surging wrath emanating from the young man. He twitched indecisively, every neuron in his mind firing the command to take her out, to protect his baby, but his better senses held him back for the very same reasons.

"Back the fuck away fro the car," Dean instructed, barely restraining his evident ire. "So much as touch it, and all that heavenly wrath you hear about will seem like rolling through daisies with a fluffy bunny compared to what I'll do."

"All that choler..." the spearfinger murmured, eyes lighting up. "Your liver would be particularly scrumptious, I'm sure." Dean's eyebrows shot up, almost distracted by her off-color comment.

"You're frickin' bizarre, even for us, you know that?" The witch just smiled. "You aren't touching my liver, that's for sure, and you sure as hell aren't touching the Impala."

"Oh really?" she cajoled, cocking her head. "We'll see about that." She moved in closer, fractions of an inch from the pristine paint job of the Impala, and then everything seemed to happen at once. Dean lunged at her as Sam burst out of the woods; the spearfinger, caught off guard by the arrival of the gargantuan Winchester, was tackled to the ground by Dean, purposely moving her away from the beloved car.

The elder brother shouted instructions at Sam as he wrestled with the witch; the taller man smoothly entered the fray at the same time. Forcefully, Dean pulled the witch's more dangerous arm away from the fight, pinning it with his body, while Sam struggled against her still considerable strength.

Dean drew a knife from his belt, taking ahold of the old woman's wrist and coercing her hand open. Her long finger fought hardest against this, but his years of fighting with things much stronger than she won out and he managed to lay her whole hand out flat on the ground.

"You got her?" Sam asked, glancing over to his brother even as he wrangled with the witch.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, taking a firm hold of his knife. The witch's eyes widened with fear as the elder Winchester smirked at her, blade hovering a few inches over her pointed finger. He enjoyed this for half a second, thoughts flicking to his baby, and then plunged the blade through her heart, in the dead center of the spearfinger itself.

Her scream pierced the empty field–a few animals could be heard scurrying away–but Dean didn't let up, even as she began thrashing about in a last ditch attempt to escape them. Dean waited with determined patience as her continued shrieking became less and less ear-shattering and she quit convulsing. Once her body had quit moving altogether, her eyes becoming dull, he dislodged the knife and stood up, features hard but triumphant.

"No one threatens my baby."


	6. Back in Black

A/N: Mmm, my favorite song out of the bunch. It would have been up sooner, but the site was having trouble with my file. This one also features Supernatural's resident angel du jour, Castiel. Hopefully, it's as enjoyable as the song, if not as badass. This one sort of floundered away from my original idea, but I like it nonetheless. I'm only afraid that it might have already been overdone. Oh well. If it counts for anything, this takes place after 'It's a Terrible Life.'

* * *

Dean lay spreadeagle across the motel bed, one nicer than the beds they usually frequented. Currently, he was enjoying a moment of peace as the Magic Fingers hummed, another bonus that came with the room. Usually, a comfortable bed and Magic Fingers were mutually exclusive, so to have both in the same place was almost unheard of. He'd have to remember the name of this place, in case there were any others. Slim chance, he knew, but totally worth it if the opportunity ever arose again.

In the mean time, he fully intended to enjoy every moment of this rare luxury. With a contented smile, he slipped another quarter in the machine and relaxed into what truly had to be magical fingers.

"Hello, Dean."

Dammit.

Dean opened one eye, already irritated, and glared at the invader as best as one could with a single eye.

"What do you want, Cas?" When the angel almost looked hurt, assuming he could actually experience that emotion, Dean amended his statement. "I'm sort of in the middle of something. What're you here for?" Whatever emotion had flickered on his face was gone now, replaced by the usual all-business facade.

"My superiors wished that I speak with you. After your interaction with Zachariah, we want to assure that you're truly okay." Dean quirked an eyebrow, but didn't get up.

"Okay?" he snorted. "Pretty far from it, but if it'll make your bosses happy, then yeah, sure. I'm just peachy keen." His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but Castiel either didn't pick up on it, or outright ignored it.

"I understand that the situation you are in isn't the most favorable," the angel began, but Dean cut him off.

"No, you probably don't understand, but since when has that stopped you?" The Winchester sat up finally, the last quarter having run its course. He eyed the trenchcoated angel with an even stare, almost matching but not quite as creepy as the angel's own. "Seriously man, why are you here? Zachariah seemed pretty straightforward when he told me to suck it up and keep on with the only life I could ever apparently lead." Traces of bitterness lined his words, but they belied nothing he hadn't already dealt with.

"You don't enjoy your life?" Castiel asked, suddenly seeming to care in an almost human way. He made no motion to sit like any other human would, but you couldn't expect everything all at once. Dean was frankly surprised how human he'd become, considering where he'd started. It wasn't enough of a surprise to open the sharing and caring floodgate, though. Even Sam only got to see those moments once in a blue moon.

"My life is about all I expect," Dean replied, no snark or anger in his voice. He had a feeling Castiel could read his mind anyway, so lying was redundant, and actually prolonged any awkward moments that could result. "Beer, babes, beasts, the usual stuff. Oh, and the whole freakin' Apocalypse," he added, unable to hold back the resentment any longer.

"It is not your fault, Dean." Castiel's response seemed to be an attempt at comfort, but it barely came out as more than the statement of a fact. Dean just snorted, rising from the bed to pull a beer from the mini-fridge.

"Lying's a sin, you know," he snapped, cracking the can open. Castiel watched him with that unwavering stare as he took a long, needy drink.

"I'm aware," the angel finally replied. "The Lord does not blame you, you know."

"Like you would know," Dean scoffed, and took another swig of his beer as he sat on the edge of the bed. Castiel only tilted his head ever-so-slightly; the Winchester saw this and raised an eyebrow. "I know, dude. Anna told me. Only four of you guys have ever seen the big guy."

"That is true." The way Cas said that, it was as if it was a universally known fact. "But He understands that Hell is not made for the human mind to endure for so long without breaking. That much I do know."

Dean had nothing to say to this, and the two were silent for a few minutes; Dean drank his beer and Cas stood in the same spot he'd appeared in, stock still in a way that only an angel could achieve. This was unnerving and flat-out weird, so Dean broke the silence when it became too much.

"Dude, could you at least sit? You're weirding me out." Castiel wordlessly did as Dean asked, sitting on the bed opposite Dean. The angel's eyes never left his charge, though, who eyed him back. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Well, that was nice. Not necessary, but nice. At least it meant the guy was learning to be a little more human.

The hunter took another drink as a new thought struck him.

"Alright, if it's 'Ask an Angel' time, I've got a question," he said. Leaning in a little closer, he rested a hand on his knee and pointed to Cas with the other, beer-laden hand. "Why am I here? I know, I know, 'the man who started it is the only one who can end it,' whatever. But why me? Why wasn't it someone else who broke the first Seal?"

"Only a righteous man could break the Seal," Cas responded simply; Dean just snorted derisively.

"And that's me? Dude, you have a skewed vision of righteous." He punctuated the moment of self-deprecation with a swig of beer, finishing off the can. He sat it next to him on the bed absently, more interested in the angel's next response than spilling the swill at the bottom on a motel bed.

"You still don't deem yourself worthy," Cas stated, apparently trying to flesh out Dean's inner reasoning out loud. "That is far from the truth. You are more virtuous than much of humanity, especially among those in Hell."

"Bullshit," was Dean's instant reply; it shut the angel up, that was for sure. Gathering his thoughts from the growing tangents, he glanced around the room for help, if only to avoid those penetrating eyes. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm gonna be thankful forever that you pulled me out of the Pit, but I just can't see why. Why was I the right guy? How come some other poor schmuck didn't do it? And who the hell thinks I can end this? I'm not exactly the Second Coming, if you haven't noticed. I don't think I can do it, Sammy doesn't either, so who has all this crazy faith in me?" His thoughts floundered suddenly, deserting him just as he was getting on a roll. He struggled to regain them for a moment, then shook his head. "Fuck it."

Castiel, though, was ready.

"I can't give you an exact answer, but I can say that your family is special. That's why Hell needed your father before you. It's why Azazel chose your mother, and later Sam. I don't know what makes you different Dean." Pausing, his eyes fell from Dean to the floor, as if ashamed. "Believe me, I would not wish your situation on any other mortal. It is more than one man should ever have to deal with."

Okay, the guy was definitely humanizing–Dean heard some real compassion in those words. Frankly, it was a small comfort on its own to hear the angel sounding so vulnerable, even if it meant he was drifting further and further from his supposed angelic demeanor.

"Thanks, man," was all the hunter could manage, not sure what else he could say to that. Castiel nodded, eyes drifting to meet Dean's once again.

"It is the only real thing I can offer you at this moment," he admitted, words layered with so many thoughts and emotions that Dean could only begin to identify. "I have no answers for you."

"It's okay," Dean found himself saying. Hadn't he started this conversation out irritated? Funny how quickly these things could change, especially with Cas in the mix. He was so much like a child sometimes, it made it hard for Dean to hold things against him. "Sorry to spring that shit on you. You were only down here to make sure I was still onboard with all this anti-Apocalypse war, anyway. I am, for the record. No need to revamp my memories again to reinforce the idea." The angel seemed to smile at that, at least a ghost of a smile.

"I will relay that message to my superiors," he said, standing. Looked like their heart to heart time was over. The smile fell from his face as he looked upward, ready to disappear again, but not before he said one last thing, eyes looking down to the sitting man with intensity. "And Dean? I have faith in you."

And with a rustle of feathers, he was gone.


	7. You Shook Me All Night Long

A/N: Interesting to write, that's for sure, and definitely the hardest to get done so far. There's a reason Supernatural is known as borderline torture-porn, and I'm not about to halt that train. The poor boys, though... TV Tropes would have something to say about this, I'm sure. This one kind of drifted, like a lot of the others did, but I'm okay with the way it turned out. Alas, this one is set between 'The Monster at the End of This Book' and 'The Rapture.'

* * *

At first, all he knew was hazy light. It flowed into every corner of his mind, burning the backs of his eyes.

Then he became aware that he still had eyes. That was a plus.

The light became clearer, and Dean blinked furiously as it attempted to stun him. Bright lights danced around him; he decided that closing his eyes for a minute would be the best route to take.

A minute later, and he opened them; this time, the results were much better. He could see the vague outline of a room, a small warehouse by the look of it. Not much else to identify it by, but he could slowly see–and feel–that he was strapped to a table of sorts, propped up at an angle perpendicular to the floor.

And then the pain hit him. A dull throb over his right eye, a long scratch down his cheek and, above anything else, an excruciating ache in his left side, just below his ribs. Dammit, it felt like someone had tried to stab him. He winced, a low hiss of anguish escaping his lips.

Through it all, he tried to think: where had he last been? What had he and Sammy been hunting? Who'd fucked up and gotten him into this position? And who the hell was holding him now? Answers did their best to elude him, but he managed to latch onto a fuzzy detail or two. He and Sam had been fighting demons Flagstaff. They were trying to break a Seal, and that's when things went foggy. One of them must have been hiding and knocked him out while he and Sam were fighting the other demons.

"Well, it's about time you're up." A foreign voice echoed in the large room, originating from somewhere behind Dean. He'd never heard it before, and even though it was a calm female voice, he could already tell that he wasn't going to like her. She had him strapped to a table, for one.

"What the hell do you want?" he barked, twisting his head as far as he could in the direction of her voice. She sauntered languidly from behind him, a dark smirk on her lips.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," she tutted, "don't you know how to talk to a lady?"

"Tell me when you see one," he quipped. If the first thing he'd noticed hadn't been the knife twirling between her fingers, it would have been the fact that she was actually kind of pretty. Not model gorgeous, or porn star hot, but pretty. Probably the kind of girl that some guy had brought home to mom, before she was meatjacked.

"There's that famous wit I've heard so much about," she replied, taking the insult in stride. Some demons just took it better than others. She stepped closer to him, dark brown hair falling over her shoulders but not obscuring her face. That was well enough for her, as she flashed her demonic eyes for just a second, endless black washing over grey-blue and fading just as quickly. Normal again, they seemed to appraise him. "You're the Dean Winchester, savior of humanity?" She snorted in a very unladylike way. "I can't see it, but I guess I'll take their word for it."

"I'll say it again: what do you want?" he asked, not biting. The bitch was going to have to try a lot harder than that if she wanted to goad Dean Winchester.

She smiled at him, almost as sweetly as a demon could, and pulled the blade close to his face.

"All I want are some answers," she said, dragging the metal slowly down his cheek. It drew unbidden comparisons to his time on the rack, and he shuddered involuntarily. "Oh, you don't like that, do you? Does it remind you of home? I know it reminds me of home." His eyes snapped to hers, gaze hard.

"Hell isn't my home," he stated aggressively.

"Thirty years on Earth, forty years in Hell, and you still consider Earth your home?" A smirk bloomed on her face, blue eyes sparkling. "Honey, that's just plain stupid. But I guess you never really were the bright one, huh?" The blade trailed down his throat now, applying gentle pressure but never breaking the skin.

"Fuck you," he snapped, drawing only a raised eyebrow from her.

"I didn't realize both Winchesters were into that sort of thing. Too bad that's not what I'm here for." The knife paused now, waiting over his collarbone; her eyes turned from playful to vicious on a dime. "Now how about we get down to business? You can start by telling me where this supposed Prophet is."

How stupid did she think he was? Like he was really going to break that easily.

"Not a chance," he replied. He would have mentioned the archangel assigned to Chuck, but he didn't know how much they knew, and kept his mouth shut accordingly. This only made the girl frown. The pressure from the blade increased, sending the first waves of vague pain coursing out from the spot. He didn't even wince.

"That's not what I want to hear," she said. Dean could feel a thin line of blood bubble up around her blade, keeping a straight face the whole time. "Once more, where's the Prophet?"

Looking her dead in the eyes, he said, "Sorry to disappoint, hun, but I don't know. Heaven's not exactly a part of my inner circle." The girl snorted.

"Now that's not true, and you know it. You've got a battalion on your side, whether you like them or not." She leaned in closer, scrutinizing him. It almost made him uncomfortable, how she seemed to be looking into him instead of at him. "Except for the angel on your shoulder. You like him. He's your friend." Her last words dripped with derision. Dean had nothing to say to that, choosing to glare at her; she dug the knife in a little further and smiled slightly. "Whatever. So you don't know where the Prophet is. Tell me what you know about Michael's sword."

She pulled the blade out suddenly, exiting with a wet squelch. The Winchester just gritted his teeth, ignoring the stronger wave of pain. What the hell was she even talking about? Like Michael the angel? He barely knew the name, let alone if he had a sword.

"I've got nothing," he responded. From her frown, this wasn't the answer she was looking for. In response, she took the already bloody blade and dragged it down his abdomen, this time with enough force to break the skin and leave a trail of blood behind. His nose scrunched up unconsciously, but he bore the pain in silence, watching her evenly. She smiled at him.

"Anything now?" she asked, pushing the knife in deeper. He didn't allow her the pleasure of one gasp; a frown overtook her smile as she leaned back, knife still slicing into his skin. The bitch was going to have to try harder than that if she really wanted a reaction from him. "Oh, I forgot. You're the infallible Dean Winchester. Well," she amended with a smirk, "almost infallible. You held out for, what, the first thirty years? I guess that's impressive, when Alistair's behind the knife."

A barrage of Hell hit him, flashes of screams, blood and euphoria that he did his best to suppress.

"Fuck off," he growled, a vestige of his persona from Hell leaking through dangerously. This, though, seemed to make her happier than his stream of empty answers.

"Now, that's what I like to hear," she practically giggled. A demented smile arched across her face. "The torture master's apprentice. I heard they tried to have you interrogate the man himself. Tell me, how'd that go?" Blade dragging back up to his collarbone, it scooped under the bone and poked out on the other side. He grunted slightly, but never broke eye contact with her.

"Frigging fantastic," he replied, voice only barely telling of the pain that seared the area and his body as a whole. Blood trickled visibly from this wound, trailing down his side and staining the t-shirt he wore. She tilted her head, processing his statement.

"I've always been amused by the way you humans use sarcasm to cover up pretty much everything. Who needs to admit they have feelings when they can just throw out a snarky comment?" He just raised his eyebrows, bridge of his nose twitching as the only sign that he was in pain. She was no different than any other demon–she thought she had some sort of unique idea about humanity. "It's always been your crutch, hasn't it Dean? All that bravado, and you're still weak underneath it all, some sort of masochistic martyr that hates himself enough to throw himself in the Pit to save his Anti-Christ little brother."

"Shut up." There was no humor in his voice, only the hard edge he reserved for the Pit and people who insulted Sam. This only made her quirk an eyebrow, though.

"Now I can see why people in Hell feared you. You know, they still talk about you down there. If you're coming back, if you'll take Alistair's place, if you really escaped or if you just hid until Alistair was out of the picture. Some wonder if you even existed at all. You're sort of a legend down there." She smiled, pulling the knife toward her; he groaned, teeth grinding together in an effort to keep any other indications of pain down.

"Now where were we? That's right, interrogation. If you don't know about Michael's sword, you can at least tell me about the angels' next move."

"Not a chance," another voice replied, echoing from behind Dean. The hunter instantly recognized the steady tones of Castiel, and grinned up to the demon girl accordingly.

"Babe, you're screwed." At the same time, Cas came into view, walking purposefully. The demon pulled out the knife buried in Dean's flesh immediately and began backing away, eyes suddenly brimming with terror. She wasn't all she built herself up to be, apparently, but kept the blade between her and the angel as if it would really do anything for her. He said nothing, only approaching her slowly. At least the guy had a sense of drama, if not urgency, but Dean was thoroughly enjoying the look of mounting fear in her eyes.

"Get out of here, you halo," she snarled, as if it was some sort of insult. Stopping with a hard thud, her eyes grew wider and his reason for not attacking her became apparent: he had backed her into the wall. Realization dawning, she lunged out to stab him; he caught her arm with ease and placed two fingers from his other hand on her forehead. Instantly, her head fell back, mouth wide, and black smoke poured out.

After a few seconds, all the smoke had vanished into the floor, the girl went limp and Cas, already having a firm grip on her arm, laid her on the floor gently. When he had assured that she was alright, he stood and walked over to Dean.

"I'm sorry we took so long," the angel stated, breaking the cords that bound Dean to the table. The hunter's brow furrowed.

"We?" he repeated, rubbing a wrist as Cas broke the other hand free. The angel moved to break the bindings around his feet and torso, glancing up to meet Dean's eyes as he answered.

"Sam and I." Just as he spoke, the kid thundered in, bottle of holy water clutched firmly in one hand. When he saw Dean and the collapsed girl, he rushed to his brother's side.

"Why didn't you tell me you found him?" he demanded of Cas, who pulled the last cord off of the elder Winchester.

"I did not want to shout, and knew you would find us soon enough. Your brother is alive, but you need to dress his wounds soon." Sam watched the angel, almost incredulously, then shook his head and looked to his older brother.

"What'd she do to you?" he asked, eyes darting to his wounds, the ones on his collarbone especially. Dean stood up, legs a little weak, and shook his head.

"Tried getting some answers out of me the good old-fashioned way," he replied. "How'd you guys find me?" The trio walked out of the room, Sam and Castiel keeping an eye on Dean as he limped.

"I sensed you," Cas replied. Dean turned to look at the guy, eyebrows knitted together.

"That's weird," he stated. Sam chuckled, while Cas smiled his ghost of a smile. "Now let's go back to the motel. I want some freakin' Jack."


	8. Have a Drink On Me

A/N: Alright, this is where things sort of become AU. I guess we'll see tonight. I know it's short, but there are only so many ways Dean can spell out why they have to keep hunting, and protests that Sam can put up. Set after 'Lucifer Rising.' Slight spoilers for the premiere, or the scenes they've shown so far.

* * *

"Come on, Sammy," Dean cajoled, "just take it in one gulp." The elder Winchester paused for a moment, considering his own words, and smiled wickedly. His younger brother considered him with a raised eyebrow.

"Do you really think now's the time?" the younger Winchester shot back, eyes dark but never meeting his brother's. Dean could tell he was already beating himself up over his accidental role in the Apocalypse, and if he knew his brother as well as he thought he did, the kid was only getting started with the brooding.

That's why they were here, in the closest bar Chuck could think of, drinking, or at least trying to. Dean had already put back two shots of Jack, and was now nursing a beer, while Sam had taken one drink of his beer and stopped. This was going to happen eventually–Dean had known that much–but he was hoping to stave it off for as long as possible. Now wasn't exactly the right time for the kid to lose faith in himself, when they were among the few people who could actually stop all of this.

"Just drink, okay? The world's not going to end because you had one beer," Dean said, and instantly regretted his choice of words; Sam's eyes grew stormier, if that was possible.

"No, but it's my fault that it's going to end," he muttered heavily. His words hung in the air, and then with sudden determination, he finished off his entire beer and flagged down the bartender for another. Dean just watched with apprehension as he received another. "I'm an idiot."

"We both are," Dean replied, passively. No way was the kid going to pull him into the self-pity fest. That was definitely not the way to avoid Ragnarok. "Hell's been playing our whole family like a dumb blonde since Mom and Dad were younger than we are." Sam snorted in a derisive way, but made no effort to reply, so Dean carried on. "Doesn't mean we still can't stop it, though. We've got to."

"No, you've got to," Sam quipped, eyes snapping to his brother. "I'm just supposed to sit by the side and wait for you to fix my goddamn mistake." Dean chuckled, but that only pissed Sam off more. "What? This isn't funny, Dean. The world's going to end, and it's my fucking fault." The elder Winchester raised an eyebrow; Sammy didn't curse a whole lot.

"Dude, I broke the first Seal. If I hadn't done that, you wouldn't have been able to break the last one. It's both of our faults, so get off your freakin' pity train. We're both the reason the world's going to go." He let that hang for a moment, taking a long drink of his beer, and then jumped back to the conversation. "And that's why we've got to fix it."

"Why are you so gung-ho all of a sudden?" Sam snapped. "You're the one who's always preaching about screwing destiny."

"It's not destiny, man, it's necessity. How many other people do you think are actually equipped to fix this? Besides," he added, taking a swig of his beer, "it's our fault, so it's our responsibility. We've got to clean up our own messes." Sam turned his whole body now, really getting into full-on arguing mode.

"Why is it our mess? It seems to me that Heaven could clean this up neatly if they'd tell us anything," he replied, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders. "They've been playing us just like Hell has, so what makes them any better?" The older hunter didn't look at his brother, gaze focused on the wall behind the bar.

He didn't like thinking about the role Heaven had played in the end of the world–in truth, Sam should be the one who was more pissed at the angels. After all, he was the one who'd prayed every day since he was little, the one who'd always wanted to believe, even when there was no proof. But Dean had been closer to them, Castiel in particular, and now, because of this stupid plan Zachariah and his kind had concocted, someone close to him was dead, gone. Again.

"Nothing does," Dean muttered, and took a long drink of his beer to finish it off. He shook his head wearily, accepting the replacement drink the barkeep passed him. "Nothing makes it better. They're all dicks, and their half-assed plan sucks. This whole situation sucks, and I wish every freaking day that we didn't have to be wrapped up in it, but we are. You, me, Bobby, Ellen, anyone we can round up– we're all that's standing between Lucifer and the world. So we can tell Heaven to go suck it, but we've still got to end this."

Sam furrowed his brow, leaning closer to his brother, who still didn't look at him. "What's wrong with you, dude? You're way too laid back about all this."

"Yeah, what was I thinking? I'll just melt into a crying mess," Dean cracked, turning to look at his sulking little brother. "That's not gonna solve anything, Sammy. If we waste time feeling sorry for ourselves, the world ends. Yeah, shit sucks–Cas is dead, Lucifer is walking around in some guy's meat, we caused the whole goddamn Apocalypse–but seriously man, what do you think you're accomplishing wallowing like this?"

Sam opened his mouth up to respond, probably with something snarky, but decided against it and took a drink instead.

"Exactly," Dean continued. "It freaking sucks, but it's what we have to do. If we don't, then there's nothing left for us. We might as well just bite the bullet now, because this world is shit out of luck if we aren't willing to try. And doing nothing means that everyone that died–Mom, Jess, Dad, Cas–they all died in vain. I don't know about you, but I think that's bullshit, just because we're too busy being little girls about this. So suck it up and drink, because this is probably the last time we really get to relax. I've got a bad feeling about the next year."

Dean took a drink, not turning away from his brother, but eyes drifting around the bar. A new song came on the jukebox, a Kansas song that both men knew by heart from a lifetime on the road; they sat in silence for the duration of the music. When the last guitar riffs died out, Dean finished off his beer and looked to Sam again, who had also emptied his bottle and a shot of tequila.

"Are you done yet?" he asked, drawing a raised eyebrow from his brother.

"Yeah," the kid replied, "I guess." Dean took this half-hearted answer with a satisfied nod.

"Good, because we have a world to save."


	9. Shake a Leg

A/N: Huh. From my timeline, this is the last chapter I'm writing. Weird. About the premiere–oh my god. I have no words for how awesome that was. I can't articulate how excited I am for this season, although I can say that my roommate and I both yelled "Fuck yes!" when Castiel appeared on screen. He's going to be badass. Anyway, this is kinda AU, depending on how you want to look at it, and I'm still not sure how I feel about the ending. It just wasn't wanting to end properly. It's set anytime after the last one.

* * *

"It's bullshit, that's what it is!" Dean shouted into the air, the blazing light fading moments after Zachariah disappeared. He glared at the empty space for a few seconds longer before turning to Sam and Castiel, who both watched him with apprehensive eyes. Almost as an afterthought, he added, quieter, "Freaking bullshit."

"Do you really think that was wise, Dean?" Castiel ventured, eyebrows raised in a distinctly human way that Dean hadn't seen on him until recently. The addressed hunter met the man's eyes, features set to resemble what rationality and fury would look like if they had a baby.

"Hell yeah," he responded simply. "Angel or not, he's still an ass."

"But he was only acting in the best interest of the world." At Castiel's response, Dean snorted disbelievingly.

"Do you really believe that shit? He helped start the freaking Apocalypse! There's no way he's looking out for the best interests of the world. And," he added with a vindictive edge and an arm thrown in the direction the angel had once been in, "who the hell does he think is, coming down here and threatening to kill you and Sammy, and then telling me I still had to help them with this whole war?"

Sam shrugged, not sure what to say, while Castiel pushed on.

"He is in charge of hundreds of angels," the man replied, eyes suddenly on the floor. "He believes he has power over the Kingdom of Heaven and Earth." Even from his tense standing position, Dean could see the pain coming off the angel in waves. It had only been a few weeks since the onset of the End of Days, since Cas had chosen the Winchesters over Heaven, since Sam had given up the demon blood addiction and they'd been on the run, and they were all feeling the strain.

Castiel may have had it worst of all: where once he had been a powerful angel of the Lord, he was now barely more than human. He had to do everything as any other human would, without the lifetime of experience to back it. He was cut off from the only family he'd ever known, the only existence he'd ever lived. Save for the fading angel mojo he still had after his supercharge, like the ability to sense Dean and occasionally fly, he was essentially human.

"Well, I'm not one of his freaking angels," Dean replied, "so he can back the fuck off. Threatening you guys isn't exactly the best way to get me to go along with any more of their stupid plans or be a damn vessel, anyway."

"Thanks for that, by the way," Sam interjected, finally piping up. Dean just gave a noncommital shrug.

"You'd do the same," he replied passively. While a month ago that idea might have been in question, the younger Winchester now clung to his brother even more usual, even if Dean was wary of his motives. Things were still rocky between them, especially when Sam felt a craving for demon blood and became edgy, but Dean did what he could to make sure the kid never tasted the stuff again. He'd gotten better over the past few weeks, and while there was some lingering distrust and animosity between them, it would continue to fade over time, if only out of necessity. There was no room to doubt each other when all they had was each other. With Bobby out of commission for now, they had to rely on each other more than ever.

"I can't believe him," Dean muttered after a silent moment. While Sam and Cas sat, on a bed and chair respectively, the elder man began to pace, vehemence mounting once again. "He just swoops in here, saying he has to take you both away to be executed for defying the will of Heaven and being abominations, and expects me to just let him? It's frickin' batshit."

"But we are abominations," Cas replied. He glanced quickly to Sam, who nodded in understanding, and continued. "I'm, for all intents and purposes, a fallen angel, and Sam has been irrevocably tainted by demon blood. You're the purest person in this room, in the eyes of God."

"What God?" Dean shot back, eyes flashing darkly. "You know what Zach said. The big guy's not around, not for us anymore. It's that dick and his cronies that are calling the shots, and I'm not letting you guys die because some asshat with a plan doesn't think you guys fit into the equation."

"We don't, Dean. You started it, you've got to end it," Sam replied. Before Dean could respond with something snippy, Sam held up a hand. "Hear me out, man. Cas and I already played our parts. You're the one who's supposed to end all of this. We're just here to help you." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Drop the destiny shit, okay? This is our fight. All of us had a part in screwing it up, so it's on all of our shoulders." He looked to the ceiling, bridge of his nose twitching, and growled, "You hear me? All of us! Sammy and Cas aren't disposable, not if you want me around. I will let this whole place burn to the ground if you so much as think about touching them again!"

Despite the weight of the statement, the two men in question grinned. Life was shit right now, to put it nicely, and any levity was appreciated more than it would have been regularly. Frankly, they didn't have a lot to smile about these days, not when demon attacks were on the rise, not to mention the near daily natural disasters, updates about Bobby's recovery and the fact that both sides were hunting them.

Dean continued to stare at the ceiling for a moment longer, head dropping to level and meeting their eyes in turn.

"How'd he even find us?" he queried, the thought suddenly hitting him; a hand drifted to his chest unconsciously. "Aren't these sigil things supposed to hide us from angels?"

"They do," Castiel replied, with more than a hint of pride in his voice. "I'm willing to bet that he followed us back from the last hunt, or had another angel do it. Nothing of Heaven can detect you while you bear those symbols."

"Well, we aren't exactly getting rid of them anytime soon," Dean muttered, rubbing his rib cage.

"I bet he set up that whole hunt," Sam said, brow furrowing like it did when he was thinking. "He's already proven that he's a big enough ass to try and kill us. What're a few human lives so he can find us again?"

"But how'd he know we'd show up?"

"It's likely that he set up lots of cases across the country, based on any tips they may have had," Cas answered. The idea of hundreds of people possibly dying across the States just to draw them out settled in the room, bringing with it silence and an unbidden shudder down Dean's spine. That was just plain callous, but not necessarily out of his range, considering how far they knew he'd go to get someone to give in. 'Dick' was among the best words they could think of to describe him; it had almost become synonymous with his name around them.

"That's fucked up," Dean said after a minute. With a shake of his head, almost like he was disappointed in Heaven, he pulled a beer out of their mini-fridge, looking to Sam and Cas to see if either wanted one. Sam nodded in the positive, while the angel shook his head. He still clung to a few moral standards enforced in Heaven, and that included no drinking. Dean had a feeling that would fade with time, though.

He tossed one to his brother, cracking his own open but still not sitting. His anger still hadn't quite run out yet, so sitting would probably only irritate him more.

"I'm not their goddamn puppet," he muttered, taking a swig. "They can stop wasting their time and leave us alone. I'll fight the whole way down, whether we win or not, but I'm not letting some angel do the electric fucking boogaloo in my skin. No offense, Cas." The angel shrugged, aware that the hunter really meant no offense, and Dean continued. "I don't care what they want. I don't care if I'm the reason the world ends. We're doing this our way, not theirs."

"Well, I'm onboard for whatever it takes," Sam supplanted, fully aware that while Dean still wasn't entirely pleased with him, helping to rectify their combined mistake wouldn't hurt his brother's faltering trust in him.

"So am I," Castiel added, the weight of his responsibility for the current situation evident in his words as well. Their confidence wasn't a whole lot, compared to the whole freaking world working against them, but a small smile broke across Dean's face anyway. It could have just been the three of them against all of Heaven and Hell, and he still wouldn't back down, not with these guys at his back. At least they'd go down swinging, playing nobody's game but their own.

Even if they were royally fucked.


	10. Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution

A/N: Sooooo... I'm writing this way before I'm even done with the other chapters. The idea just won't leave me alone. I know it's sort of saccharine, but I like it, and it seriously will not get out of my head. Besides, it's not a perfect world. I'm not saying their lives turn all sugar and rainbows. Just showing a peaceful moment. And I won't say any more; you can just read it. Takes place after the last one, probably a long while. While I'm sad I'm done, I hope you enjoyed the ride. And if there are any hints of Dean/Castiel, sorry. They're unintentional. Although, the bit in last night's episode, when Cas says he fell for Dean... I know it had the fangirls squealing. Anyway, carry on and thanks for reading!

* * *

A few fluffy clouds rolled across the blue skies. Golden sunlight shone down on the verdant grasses, waving ever-so-slightly in the soft breeze. Somewhere, a bird chirped, and a squirrel darted from one tree to another. In the middle of the field, three men relaxed on the hood of a vintage car, fresh wash and wax making it shimmer in the sun.

If, even a week ago, someone had told them that they would be where they were now, they'd probably have told that person to get their head out of their ass and get back to fighting. But here they were, almost amazingly.

It was over. All of it, through and done with.

Well, not all of it. There was still plenty of evil out there to hunt, but nothing like what they'd faced in the last year. No legions of demons, no Lucifer, no Hell on Earth. The whole Apocalypse, come and gone, beaten down thanks to them and hunters like them.

Anything now was just cake, be it werewolves or vampires, chupacabras or freaking Bigfoot. Nothing could stop them now, not when they'd looked into the gaping maw of Hell, skies swirling black and seas burning with fire, and still fought Lucifer himself back into the Pit.

And now, just days after the final battle between Heaven and Hell was waged on Earth, the three champions of humanity sat, sipping beer.

"Pass me another, would ya?" Dean asked, dropping his empty into the grass in front of him. Castiel passed him a fresh bottle, still cold from the cooler, and he cracked it open, enjoying the faint hiss and thin roll of smoke that came afterward. Sam took a loud gulp of his own beer, while Cas gazed out into the woods they faced, eyes lost in the astonishing shades of green and brown that almost seemed unreal.

And yet it was so undeniably real. It seemed almost like a dream, a half-assed fantasy that they were all somehow trapped in, except that they weren't–they weren't sure how or why, but each of them had the same irrepressible feeling that this was real. Humankind was safe and back to bumbling along, nearly oblivious to how close they'd come to annihilation. Only the small hunter population, which had marginally grown since the onset of Armageddon a year ago, knew the truth; most of them were probably in states similar to the three men.

None of them said anything, choosing instead to silently bask in the seeming perfection of this day. For a few days, they'd hung around bigger cities, helping with some clean up and drawing out the last demon stragglers that hadn't been thrown back to Hell.

Late last night, though, Dean had started acting antsy, and Sam had suggested they get out of town for a while. Bobby and Ellen had agreed, so the three of them roared away from town under the bright moon, glowing stoic in the sky once again. Dean had driven for hours, no real destination in mind, dictated only by his whims and those of his passengers.

They'd stopped only once in the early afternoon, at a small town grocery store, to pick up some beer and a slice of pie for Dean, who was starving, and said so every few minutes until then. Another few minutes worth of driving had guided them here, to this grassy, secluded field.

And so they'd sat, relaxed on the hood under the high afternoon sun, for an hour or two now; none of them were really keeping time. It was the ultimate relief, knowing the end of the world had been averted, and they all felt better than they had since the beginning of the whole debacle. Hell, more than they had in years. Even Castiel felt a weight lifted, one he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. It was liberating.

It was just so peaceful. Not just out here, but in the world. No plagues, no natural disasters, nothing beyond the ordinary. They could just sit, drink and not worry about what town was burning to the ground while they were resting. Things were okay now, as okay as they were going to be.

"Pass me another?" Sam said, setting his empty on the ground. Cas acquiesced, handing the man on his right a cold beer before taking a prolonged gulp of his own. No one said much of anything, except to ask for more beer. None of them wanted to be the one who ended this time of repose, even if they knew it couldn't last forever.

One question hung in the air, one that none of them had wanted to address just yet. The day was too perfect to even consider the future. The most of their worries now was when the booze would run out, and they'd have to drive back into town for more, or maybe some food. But the words rested heavily in their minds, and finally, the one with the least developed ability to suppress his thoughts voiced the silent question.

"What now?" Castiel asked, not looking to his friends seated on either side of him. He was met with only swigs of beer and distant stares into the surrounding nature; the Winchester men were either ignoring him or choosing the right words.

"I have no idea," Dean replied after a long minute. "More hunting, I guess." Castiel, for all his time among humans, for having so little grace that he practically was a human, didn't seem to comprehend his choice.

"You're going to continue, knowing that you could quit now, live a normal life and there would be ten more hunters stepping up to take your place?" the angel inquired, actually curious. Over the past few months, the guy had impressed Dean time and time again, whether with amazing hunting prowess or how human he had slowly become. Now, he could almost pass for any other guy on the street, if it wasn't for that slight celestial vibe he still gave off.

"Why wouldn't we continue hunting?" Sam questioned back. "It's what we're good at."

"Besides," Dean shrugged, "I'm pretty sure we're all legally dead. Setting up new lives would be a bitch." Cas nodded, accepting these arguments, though he already had his own formed.

"But we fought all the demons back into Hell, and the gates were sealed," the angel remarked. Sam looked to him, shrugging.

"They'll find a way through. They always do." He paused for a minute, considering what else he wanted to say; his eyebrows knitted together in a way that Dean had always found funny. "Besides, demons are the only things that are out of our way for a while."

"There's still plenty of other stuff to hunt, man. Don't think you're getting off that easily," Dean added, tipping his beer toward the angel to accent his point; a thought seemed to strike him at the same time. "And what about you? Now that the big war is over, what do you have to do? Back to Heaven, sent on another mission, what?"

The possibilities flooded the elder Winchester's mind, making him frown, and he looked off into the forest again; as weird as it was to admit it, he'd really started liking the guy in the two years they'd known each other. Not just because he'd pulled him from Hell, but because he actually liked him. Like a friend. He didn't trust many people with his life–he could probably count the living ones on one hand–but Cas ranked high among them, just under Sam and Bobby. He started imagining what life would be like if the angel left, and realized that he would actually miss the guy.

Castiel was apparently as uneasy with those ideas as Dean was, if his matching frown was any indication.

"I don't have orders of the sort," he stated matter-of-factly, "and if I did, I would ignore them." Both Dean and Sam perked up at this, though Sam was probably more interested in the idea of Cas rebelling once again, so soon after having his full grace reinstated. Dean just wanted the guy to elaborate. When he noticed their similar reactions, Castiel grinned, a look that had taken Dean some time to get used to. "I actually received revelation last night."

"And...?" Dean pushed, trying to hate the angel for leaving them in anticipation and failing spectacularly. Cas' grin broadened; he was obviously enjoying Dean's anxiousness.

"I've been offered the opportunity to stay on Earth for as long as I wish." A wave of relief flooded over Dean, and the sun seemed to grow a little brighter with this information. Seconds later, a dark new thought enveloped him, and the smile he didn't realize he'd had fell.

"That means no Heavenly interference, right? No ass-reaming back to the Pearly Gates?" he asked, words suddenly guarded. Cas simply shook his head.

"Barring another cosmic war, no. I'll only be in contact with Heaven if I want to be." A brilliant smile broke across Dean's face; there weren't many people in his life that he could consistently count on, and he was glad to count the angel as one of them.

"That's great, man," Sam replied, slapping Cas on the back in a friendly way. Even he had come to like Cas over the course of the year, when they'd had many spiritual discussions that made Dean's brain hurt. It didn't hurt that Cas had lightened up on the kid considerably after his partial Fall. "It's been great having you around."

"I'm glad you say that," Cas said, a little more hesitant now, "because I was wondering if you would be okay with me traveling with you during my time on Earth." He sounded almost like a kid now, asking his parents for a huge favor.

Dean found himself chuckling–this was just too funny. An angel asking Sam and Dean Winchester if he could travel with them? Before Lucifer was free, he'd just popped in and joined them. During the war, he'd been under their protection, a renegade angel who was only allowed to live to ensure Dean's tenuous cooperation. If that wasn't enough proof that they liked him enough to want him around, Dean didn't know what was.

"Duh, dude, you can come along with us. Like we'd turn you away," he said amusedly, mouth curving into his trademark smirk. "You're practically part of the family now." Sam nodded in agreement, drawing a welcome smile from the angel, one that had rarely donned his face during the long year. Just seeing him happy made Dean happy, and likewise for Sam.

"Thank you," Cas said, eyes glittering with gratitude. With a shrug, Dean brushed it off before it turned into a chick flick moment. He finished off his beer, breeze ruffling his collar, and dropped the empty next to his others. Without a word, Castiel handed him another, which he took with a smile.

For a while longer, they were quiet, the last big question breached. They returned to soaking up the peace, short-lived as they knew it would be. The return to the hunting life didn't loom over them; in fact, Sam and Dean almost looked forward to going back. It was the life they'd always led, the life they were always going to lead, and frankly, they were good at it. Hell, they even enjoyed it sometimes. It wasn't perfect, but nothing was, not even Heaven.

As for Cas, he'd never lived the easy side of hunting before. His time on Earth had always been preoccupied with preventing, then putting down, the rise of Lucifer. This would be all new to him–sure, he knew most of the tricks just by being around the Winchesters for two years, and he'd helped them on a lot of hunts in the past year, but there were still a lot of things he'd never faced. He'd never experienced a hunt that didn't have the pressure of the world resting on it, for one thing. The way he'd performed in hunts and battles recently, Dean had no doubt that he'd adapt to the lifestyle easily.

"So that's it?" Cas asked, breaking the silence. He looked to the sky, as if the answer lay there, and took a swig of his beer. Sam and Dean shrugged in a moment of brotherly unison.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said, a grin breaking out on his face. "That's so weird to think about, you know? It's all over. We can just go back to saving people, hunting things -"

"The family business?" Dean interjected, a smirk adorning his face. Sam matched him with a grin, one so carefree that it was almost like this whole 'end of days' thing had never happened.

"Yeah," the kid replied, chuckling. Castiel smiled, too.

"I think that sounds great," he said, and finished his beer. Dropping the bottle into his small pile, he leaned over to get another, but sat back up with empty hands. "Guys? We're out."

"That's fine," the elder Winchester said with a shrug; he finished off his last beer, hopped off the Impala's hood and grabbed his empties. "Guess that means it's time to get some lunch."

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said with an easy smile, following his brother off the car. Cas did the same, climbing into the backseat of the Impala with practiced ease. During their year's worth travels, the angel had taken the backseat as his own, fitting so easily back there that it was like he'd been there his whole life.

Sam was close behind, dropping into the front. There was an ease in all his movements that Dean couldn't help but note. It hadn't been an easy year for the brothers–they'd dealt with a lot of issues as they forged on. They never let it get in the way of the hunt, but it always lingered in the back of their minds. Rebuilding what they'd had before didn't happen overnight. Far from it, actually, but Sam had slowly proved himself. Dean was proud to once again say Sam was his brother.

The oldest Winchester slid in last, pushing his keys in and turning the engine over. He put his baby in gear and pulled away, the open road sprawling out before them. The familiar rumble of the engine resonated in his chest; paired with the sight of Sam in the passenger seat and Castiel in the back, a fresh grin grew on his face. He slid a cassette into the tape deck, allowing the opening chords of a classic AC/DC song to blend with the rest of the idyllic noise.

For the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester was content.


End file.
